


walking away

by LydiaOfNarnia



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Amputation, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11647005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/LydiaOfNarnia
Summary: George has lived in silence for far too long.





	walking away

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, the characters in this fic are based off of their fictional portrayals from the miniseries Band of Brothers, and I mean no disrespect to the real-life veterans!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [renelemaires](http://renelemaires.tumblr.com/)!

It’s been three months.

They’ve been three months of hell, don’t get George wrong. Three months of physical therapy; three months of hospital stays and doctor visits; three months or prosthetic fittings. Three months of worried family hovering around Joe like gnats. Three months of various health scares, from the moment Joe woke up missing everything from his right calf down to when he had to be rushed back into surgery to remove even more. Three months of the unimaginable come to life.

Three months of silence.

George has been trying, he really has, but it’s been three months. Three months since Joe last smiled or directed a kind word towards him, and goddamnit, George isn’t sure how much more he can take.

That’s the worst thing to say. He knows how selfish it makes him, but in his heart he knows it’s true. He doesn’t know if he can stand another day of sitting next to Joe yet still being miles away. Each day passes by with the same routine: Joe wakes up. George helps him put on his prosthetic. George cooks breakfast, George drives Joe to physical therapy. George goes to work. George picks Joe up from physical therapy. They come home, and George makes dinner while Joe watches TV. George helps Joe shower. They go to bed.

It’s an endless cycle. Every day is the same, day in and day out, to the point where George can map each occurrence to the second. If Joe is trapped in his own personal hell, then this is George’s. It’s a twisted Groundhog Day, a purgatory intent on choking the life out of them both.

The moment George realizes he can no longer look forward to tomorrow is when he breaks.

“I can’t take this, Joe.”

He knows Joe hears him. He doesn’t look away from the TV, but his shoulders stiffen up, and that’s as good as a smile from Joe these days. George slumps against the doorframe, cursing himself for the lump in his throat. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Joe speaks. “Can’t do what?”

They both know what George can’t do. Joe just wants to hear him say it.

“I can’t… stay here with you if you’re not trying. I can’t keep doing this if you’re gonna let it kill you. I can’t watch you sink while trying to hold you up. I’ve gotta keep myself above the water too, and… and I’m drowning, Joe. I’m drowning.”

Joe’s laugh crackles, like dead leaves beneath the heavy boots he used to wear when they would go for walks together. George’s stomach twists at the sound, and he remembers the day’s Joe’s laugh used to make him smile too.

“You’re drowning?” Joe demands. “That’s rich. Hey, at least you can still swim. You’ve got both your legs.”

“You can still –” George starts, but cuts himself off. They’ve had this conversation before; he knows how it will end. If Joe thinks he can’t do something, he won’t do something.

(There was a time not too long ago when Joe Toye could do anything. He never questioned himself; no one ever questioned him.)

George knows the truth, and the truth is that he’s lost Joe. Joe’s body might have come home Afghanistan, but his mind is still there. His mind is in the Jeep that got blown to hell, taking his leg along with it. His mind is with his brothers who didn’t make it. His mind is lost to the deserts and wars, and it cannot come back to George until Joe is willing to let it.

“I miss you,” George whispers. His voice trembles on the last word, and only then does he realize how broken he sounds. “I miss… your laugh. I miss you saying my name. I miss kissing you. And Joe, I told you I’d stay for as long as you need, do _anything,_ and I would do… anything for you, Joe…” He takes a deep breath, forcing back a sob. “But it’s starting to kill me that you don’t say _‘I love you’_ back. You used to, every time.”

Joe doesn’t turn around. His silence says everything that his words cannot.

“I love you. I love you.” George repeats this like a mantra as he steps back from the doorway, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. “I love you _so_ goddamn much, and I always will. I’m sorry.”

He can’t look back as he walks out the front door, but he doesn’t have to turn to know that Joe isn’t staring after him. He wonders if Joe will be able to get in the shower tonight, and decides he’ll send Bill around to check on him. He wonders if later on, when insomnia gets the better of him, Joe will whisper his name and cry.

Probably not. Tears are another thing Joe left a world away from home.

George lets the door slam behind him, and he does not cry.


End file.
